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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195509">The Sound Of Silence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliocat/pseuds/Heliocat'>Heliocat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Griffin Callenreese Appreciation [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Banana Fish (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Altered Mental States, Ash Cries, Ash needs a Hug, Brain Damage, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Depression, Drug Use, Gen, Memories, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovered Memories, Repressed Memories, Vietnam War, Young Carer, locked in syndrome</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:41:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliocat/pseuds/Heliocat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Griffin Callenreese drifts through a world of emptiness interspersed with nightmares, but he still has moments of lucidity. In those moments he observes 'the boy'. Who is he? Why is he so sad? What is the link between them?<br/>Have tissues handy, this fic comes with a healthy dose of depression.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Griffin Callenreese &amp; Ash Lynx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Griffin Callenreese Appreciation [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Sound Of Silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I stan Griffin Callenreese. The boy was a saint! So this was difficult to write. If you cry... sorry-not-sorry.</p><p>Thanks MizukiPerry, for giving me a prompt by just... sending me a link to Disturbed's version of 'The Sound Of Silence' with the comment 'Griffin Callenreese'. I hate you (but I love you). Hello darkness my old friend...</p><p>Stuff written &lt; like this &gt; in italics are Griffin's more sober thoughts.<br/>Stuff written ( like this ) in italics are Banana Fish addled thoughts.<br/>And anything in plain italics are things other characters have said that Griffin remembers, or else foreshadowing of things other characters will say in the future.</p><p>I'm English, so British English has been used for spelling and grammar.</p><p>Many thanks to Akimi Yoshida for creating Banana Fish - this is a work of fanfiction, so I own none of the intellectual property.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something was not right.</p><p>The worst thing was he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was wrong. Sure, he was currently in the middle of a war zone, and you can never truly relax when the Viet Cong might be lying in wait just around the corner, but he’d been just fine before dinner, writing his poems quietly in the relative peace. They’d just been fed their rations for the evening and were relaxing at their temporary base camp, lazing out on the porch of a wrecked former homestead they had commandeered for shelter, enjoying the cooler, less humid Vietnamese evening air. Most of the boys were discussing trivial things back home, or observing the ominous red glow of fires on the horizon. One had received a care package from his fiancée, the others riffing him lightly while he handed out home-baked cookies to everyone. A couple of them played Old Maid without any real enthusiasm, just passing time with a dog-eared set of playing cards. The company sergeant lay sprawled and snoozing nearby, catching a brief respite in the moment of calm. Griffin was sat next to his best friend, Max Glenreed talking to him about something banal, but he was barely listening and the words went in one ear and out the other. He was restless for some reason, becoming progressively more and more on edge, wanted to move, to walk, maybe even to run. He stood up and started to pace, anxiously circling the camp a few times, checking for danger but there was none to be found. He reassured himself that the camp was safe, everything was normal, nothing to be afraid of.</p><p>Yet that niggling sensation refused to abate. If anything, it got worse.</p><p>He returned to Max, feeling jittery as he dropped back down next to him, leaning against the pock-marked wall of the run-down building, chewing a hangnail on his right pointer finger.</p><p>“Hey Griff, are you OK?” Max had asked him quietly, concerned. “You look pale.”</p><p>“I’m fine,” he lied, trying to quell those feelings.</p><p>“Hmm,” Max squinted at him, before continuing his spiel as before. “So anyway, as I was saying…”</p><p>Griffin tried one final tactic to soothe himself, pulling a rumpled photograph out of his breast pocket. A 4-year-old boy beamed back at him, wearing denim dungarees and a flannel shirt, a large floppy sunhat perched on his pale blonde head. He was stood in a field of long grass, atop a cliff overlooking the ocean near their hometown in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. His little brother, Aslan, had never failed to cheer him up before. His broad smile, that cute, persistent baby-fat he had yet to fully grow out of, remembering how intelligent and charming he was… he was so proud of him, his adorable little bro, so strong and brave and cheeky as hell. Strange. For some reason, he felt like crying. An overwhelming sense of dread overcame him as he stared at the photo, like he would never see his brother again…</p><p>“Griff…?</p><p>“Be right back,” he grunted to Max, trying to stop himself shaking as he once again stood and paced, making his way around the back of the building to the latrines. He took a leak, doubtful that it would help but that nervous sensation had shot straight to his bladder. He didn’t immediately return once he was finished, instead hiding himself away in one of the dilapidated rooms of the building. Back to the wall, he slid down to the floor, fisting his hair in both hands with an unhappy moan. Cold sweat drenched his back, beading on his face. He was shaking, quivering like an autumn leaf in a strong breeze, his hold on the tree as tenacious as his current grip on his sanity. The walls around him spiralled, seemed to melt, colours hazing out in a whirlwind, closing in on him. He screwed his eyes closed.</p><p>What the hell was wrong with him?</p><p>“Griffin?” A familiar voice quietly called out to him. With a jolt, he turned to look at who had spoken.</p><p>A familiar face; the Jewish doctor from his old squadron. Dawson, he thought his name was. Yes, that was it – Abraham Dawson. The others used to mock him and look down on him for being weak and a coward, but he was a doctor so Griffin figured it didn’t matter if he was afraid; his job was to heal, to help, not to fight and kill. He’d been kind to him, supportive even, but there was something about the doctor that made him suspicious. The boys in his old squad had started to drop like flies from recreational drug overdose shortly after he arrived. They called it Banana Fish, some LSD derivative, only the drug fucked up the brain like nobody’s business. One dose was all it took – fatal without fail, the poor bastard perishing while babbling nonsense, screaming, until eventually they either killed themselves or their body just gave out. Sometimes, they took out some of their buddies in the process – you’d try to help and they’d stab or shoot you in the head, no longer rational. Nasty business, but nobody ever figured out the drug’s source. Griffin was smart though; he had noticed a pattern, had observed some strange behaviours but had no proof. He’d been monitoring the bespectacled young doctor closely… but he hadn’t seen him since his old squadron had disbanded and he’d been assigned to this one. The incidences of drugging had sloped off and Banana Fish hadn’t been heard of in several weeks now, although occasional stories still travelled along the grapevine of boys off their heads going loopy in other platoons.</p><p>Wait, why was he here? They had a medic – Jenkins was their medic! So why was Dawson here? It made no sense!</p><p>“Been a few months, huh Griff,” Dawson said, a wan smile on his face. “I’m stationed with another platoon. They’re resting right now, about quarter of a mile away on lookout. I’ve sneaked away for a bit – they won’t miss me. Figured I’d come pay you a little visit. Took me a while to hunt you down! You’re an elusive one…”</p><p>“W…what…?”</p><p>“You’re my last loose end,” Dawson said sadly, kneeling down in front of him. “You suspected me, so I had to do this. I have no choice!”</p><p>“What d…did you do to me?!”</p><p>“It’s easy to dope a ration, Griffin. They’re all assigned and labelled individually, left unattended for anyone to tamper with. You’re my final test subject.”</p><p>“Y…you didn’t…?”</p><p>“A shame really – you were always kind to me. Not like those other bastards… I genuinely liked you.”</p><p>“D…Dawson…?”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“Aaaaaaaaah…!”</p><p>“You can blame those pricks outside for this,” Dawson growled. “If they had just been a little nicer, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. It’s all their fault!”</p><p>Griffin panted, his breathing hyperventilating. He was right… those men… those men were assholes! All of them! <em>They were the problem! They’re monsters!</em></p><p>
  <em>&lt;No… That wasn’t quite right… They were just people. People as scared as he was, that had lives, family, they wanted to go home…&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        (No, they were scum! They were cowards and pigs – they deserved to die!)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>&lt;They were his friends… He knew these people. They were rough around the edges, sure, but… All young men are like that. Why was he…?&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        (They deserved to die! They deserved to die! Fuck them all – bastards!!!)</em>
</p><p>Dawson had gently removed Griffin’s assault rifle from the sling over his shoulder. He handed it to the young man, expression dark, gleeful almost.</p><p>“You know what you need to do, Griff. Kill them and the pain will end.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Aslan! Looks like I won’t be coming home after all…&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        (Who cares, little shit… Ruined my fucking life…)</em>
</p><p>He stood unsteadily, his legs not wanting to obey him as they quivered uncontrollably, the muscles inside about as useful as jelly. His joints ached, burning like fire, head pounding, the tempo of his heartbeat thudding away way too fast in his ears and the confused chattering of his own internal monologue drowning out external sound in a cacophony of confusion. His pupils had blown, eyes wide, crazy-looking. He stumbled through the building, rifle in one hand, the other one supporting him against the crumbling masonry. He hesitated at an open window frame, observed his comrades sat around the porch, relaxed, calm, peaceful. The sergeant had woken up and was now chatting to the boys. Max was singing ‘Oh My Darling Clementine’ again, repeating the same verse over and over.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;He always does that… He doesn’t know the rest of the song… His endearing best friend… Wonderful, kind Max…&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>         (IT’S ANNOYING – KILL HIM! KILL THEM ALL!!!) </em>
</p><p>He started to climb out the window, rifle in hand, his boots sliding on the crumbling brickwork drawing attention to him. They all flinched at the sound, turned to look at him,</p><p>“Shit man – it’s just you! Don’t scare me like that!”</p><p>“Hey, Griff! You’re back!”</p><p>“That must have been one epic piss, buddy!”</p><p>Acknowledgements over, most of them returned immediately to the gentle flow of conversation, idle chatter about back home, perfect home lives, perfect families…</p><p>
  <em>          (Rubbing it in my face with their idyllic home lives… Not fair… Bunch of pricks…)</em>
</p><p>“Griff, are you okay?” Max spoke to him, a concerned frown creasing his forehead. He ignored him.</p><p>
  <em>         (Going to shoot him in the head soon anyway… Fuck… Fucking jackasses… Ugly motherfucking bastards! Die, all of you, DIE!!!)</em>
</p><p>He raised the rifle…</p><p>The only ones fast enough to react before he cut them down with a blood-curdling scream were Max and the Sergeant, Max because he had been observant of him, and the Sergeant was Sergeant for a reason, his reflexes quick as a whip. Those two scurried away, taking cover around the side of the building, the Sergeant holding Max back with a strong black arm so he couldn’t return. He heard him crying out his name, shouting it desperately… everyone else was obliterated, rapid-fire bullets hacking into them, killing them instantly. The entire platoon…</p><p>“GRIFF!!” Max leant around the wall, calling out to him</p><p>“STAY BACK! HE’S LOST IT!!!” Sergeant dragged him back as Griffin changed his aim, a spray of fresh pock-marks lining up the wall where Max had once been.</p><p>Griffin screamed again, fear and rage and regrets directed up at the sky, vocal chords abused by its animalistic intensity…</p><p>His legs suddenly blossomed in agony, the colour red spraying across his vision, swirling and dancing. He collapsed to the floor, moaning pitifully, dropping the rifle, his legs rendered useless from the perfect line of holes carved into his thighs. With a final moment of perfect focus born of drug-heightened senses, he saw Max laying prone, holding an assault rifle, wearing a pained expression. The Sergeant was shrieking at him in anger, death threats, understandable rage.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Oh. So that’s how it is… Sorry Max… I’m… I fucked up…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Griff! Griffin, it’s me! It’s Max! Your friend – you know me, right?”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Max… Best friend Max… Fuck, what have I done? Have to tell him… Warn him… Banana Fish… Dawson… Ba…nana… F… ish…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Griff…?”</p><p>“Ba…nana…”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I saw…. Banana… Fish…”</p><p>It would be the last fully coherent thought he would have for a long while.</p><p>****</p><p>Most of his days were now spent in a haze of nothingness, thinking of nothing, seeing nothing, broken up periodically by horrifying nightmares where he would whimper and scream, his body convulsing as his eyes rolled, only to blessedly black out afterwards, waking up a few hours later to repeat the cycle. Years passed this way, nothing changing, memories a mess. He became nothing, even his own name carrying no meaning for him.</p><p>Occasionally, he had snatches of lucidity, seeing and hearing things with sharp clarity, but unable to act on them, laying or sitting unable to speak or react, just listening quietly. He was sensitive to loud noises and flashing images – they would hurt his ears and eyes. Nurses would talk to him, would try engaging him in stimulating activities. In circles with other vegetative patients, listening to music, they made him clap along, moving his hands physically. They wheeled him around outside in the sunshine, idle comments on what a lovely day it was, saccharine-sweet as if this was all okay, the norm. They spoon fed him, wiped him clean… would come running when he had an episode to keep him lying in bed and not flop out onto the floor… Mostly though, they left him alone. He hated it. Despised his life, trapped in his own mind, flitting in and out of reality like a hummingbird dipping into a trumpet flower.</p><p>He had a visitor one day. He never had visitors, so his curiosity switched something on in his addled brain. He paid attention, following the newcomer with his eyes, flickers of confusion at his daily routine being altered sparking synapses.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Young… so young…&gt;</em>
</p><p>A teenage boy, no older than fifteen, skinny as a rake, too thin really, dressed in shabby, baggy clothes. White T-shirt, ripped jeans, grey hoodie. Red Converse sneakers squeaking on the hospital floor. Shaggy blonde hair framed a face that was vaguely familiar, hauntingly beautiful, but he couldn’t place it… green eyes stared at him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;He looks so sad…&gt; </em>
</p><p>“How long has he been here?”</p><p>“Nine, maybe ten years, give or take,” a nurse replied. “He was transferred here shortly after they shipped him back from ‘Nam.”</p><p>“Drugs?”</p><p>“That’s what we were told. Poor soul took a bad batch, bless him.”</p><p>“I find it hard to believe Griffin would knowingly take drugs… he just wasn’t that type of guy.”</p><p>“The war changed many people, Mr ***********.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Why is that name familiar…?&gt; </em>
</p><p>The visitor’s accent was that of a New Englander, a soft Massachusetts lilt with an Irish inflection, but diluted by… A New York dialect maybe? Or New Jersey? It was hard to say, they were similar to the untrained ear. He knew he was in an asylum somewhere in New York State, so the boy was likely a resident who had moved to the area several years prior, the city corrupting his speech over time. That still didn’t answer who he was or why he was here though.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;That accent… it reminds me of happier times…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Can… can you leave us alone for a bit…?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>The nurse left, and he and the boy were alone.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Who is he? Why is he here?&gt;</em>
</p><p>The boy dragged a chair over to the bedside, one of those hard-moulded plastic things, legs scraping harshly on the floor. He took a seat next to him, swinging the chair around and sitting on it backwards, legs spread either side and leaning on the chair back with folded arms. He was silent for a long while, just starting at him with those pale green orbs brimming with a thousand unreadable emotions, barely even blinking, right hand playing with one of the strings on his hoodie, fingering the frayed knotted end between his thumb and pointer finger. Eventually he spoke.</p><p>“Nobody told me you were here…” he said sadly. “I saw you in the New York Post. They did an article on the V.A. hospital, showing what they were passing off as leisure time for the patients, and… there you were, with a nurse, being forced to fingerpaint. I’d have come sooner, if I’d known… And if I could have… I’d have found a way! The Old Man likely knew you were here, but me and him, we don’t get on too well. I’ve not been home in a while. He probably doesn’t even know where I am.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Runaway…?&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Things got real nasty back home after you left. I… well… you don’t need to know the details. I doubt you even know who I am… I can see just by looking at you. Your eyes are dead, man.” His voice had started wavering, his face scrunched up just slightly, looking incredibly young and childish as moisture began to gather in the corners of his eyes. A silent tear rolled its way down one of his cheeks and he buried his face on top of his arms. “Fuck, Griff, what happened to you out there? You promised me you’d come home! But.. not like this! This isn’t fair!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;I kind of… want to hold this kid. I want to hug him. Why? Why can’t I? Why can’t I move any more?&gt;</em>
</p><p>“This place is a dive,” he growled, scrubbing his eyes dry with his sleeve. “They ignore you most of the day to rot here, just rolling you over now and again to prevent bedsores and shit. That’s hardly caring, it’s just… waiting around for you to die. I can’t leave you here, Griff… I’m getting you out of here somehow! I don’t know how, but I’m smart… I’ll figure something out. I promise!”</p><p>The boy stayed with him for an entire hour. Griff was unaware of him leaving… he’d faded back out into nothingness in that time.</p><p>****</p><p>The next time the boy appeared, Griffin found himself manhandled into a wheelchair, a blanket over his legs. The boy pushed him through the halls to the front desk; he was so small and weedy he had problems moving the chair, bending forwards to push him along with all his strength, sweat beading on his forehead. Griff became aware again, words making some semblance of sense to him as he stared up at a noticeboard covered in happy photos of the residents by the entrance door, listening in as the boy discussed things with the staff.</p><p>“This is most unusual, Mr. ***********. Usually, we wouldn’t be able to release a patient to a minor.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;That name again… That familiar name…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Yeah, well, my Old Man couldn’t make it down here due to his bad health, so he sent me to pick up Griff for him. This is his signature, and this is my ID – that should be enough, right?”</p><p>“It’s most unconventional…”</p><p>“Look, all I need is a copy of his prescription to give to his doctor!”</p><p>“Maybe we should phone your Father…”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;I doubt he’d care… I’m not sure how I know that, I just do…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“NO! He’s not home anyway… he’s… at my Grans. Like I said, his health is poor right now. But he wants Griff home! Everything is set up for him to come back… Please, I just want to take him home.”</p><p>“The letter looks kosher, Janice.”</p><p>“Hmm…” Typing on a keyboard, a dot matrix printer whirring loudly. Paper tears, a strangely harsh sound as it rips from the ream.</p><p>“Here’s his prescription. Make sure he takes it regularly – his episodes worsen considerably if even one dose is missed!”</p><p>“Jesus, no wonder he’s out of it all day… there are a lot of sedatives here!”</p><p>“…What?”</p><p>“Never mind. I’ll make sure he takes them – Scout’s honour!”</p><p>“We’ll be seeing you then, Mr ***********.”</p><p>“Thanks for everything!”</p><p>The chair was wheeled out of the automatic doors and onto the street. The sky was overcast, a stiff breeze tugging at his hair and clothes. The boy made sure the blanket was tucked tight over his knees before wheeling him forward. A taxi waited up the road outside, Mexican-looking driver leaning against it smoking.</p><p>“Thanks for waiting…”</p><p>“No problem. You’re paying me triple rate! Who’s the kook?”</p><p>“A war hero.”</p><p>“This something I’m better off not knowing, kid?”</p><p>“You never saw us.”</p><p>“Quadruple rate… and a blowie. I know you’ve put out for less, Lynx!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;…Lynx?&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Son-of-a…. Fine! Deal! I’ll be round at 8 tomorrow, usual place. Make sure you wash it first this time, for fuck’s sake!”</p><p>The driver and the boy carefully bundled him into the back seat, wheelchair folded and stowed in the trunk. The boy sat next to him, an arm over his shoulders, steadying him as the taxi took off into the bowels of the city.</p><p>“I can’t believe they brought the false signature… We’ll be home soon, Griff…” he murmured quietly. “I’ll take care of you now…”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Who is he?&gt;</em>
</p><p>****</p><p>The boy was scared.</p><p>The taxi had dropped them both off in a less amicable area of Manhattan, on a dark street that smelled of piss and rotting garbage. Money had exchanged hands, and the driver had made a hasty retreat leaving them alone, a teenager and a heavily disabled vet in a chair, shivering in the coldest, dankest part of New York, early evening light casting harsh shadows and sucking what little joy there was out of the place. Griffin may not have all his cognitive faculties but, like a small child, he could pick up on strong emotions of others, and the boy’s fear was palpable. His green eyes were flitting around nervously, constantly on the lookout for danger, looking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t been seen, wasn’t being followed. He’d got the hood of his jacket up over his blonde hair, pulled low to hide his face in shadow. He wheeled the chair along as fast as he could, almost running, the wheels juddering on the ill-maintained tarmac.</p><p>“Almost home, Griff,” he panted, voice barely above a whisper. “God, I hope nobody saw us… if they did…” He looked around again, panicked, face taut with it.</p><p>He darted down an alleyway, chair bumped with some difficulty up a stoop, stopping in front of a door that looked like it had been kicked down and repaired multiple times. He pulled a bunch of keys from his jeans, hands shaking as he forced the correct key into the lock. A final check for observers and Griffin was unceremoniously shoved into a dingy little apartment, the door slammed shut behind them. Only then did the boy relax just slightly.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;What’s he so afraid of?&gt;</em>
</p><p>“I don’t think we were spotted. Welcome home, Griff,” he said, sighing. “It’s not much, but… well, I’m not exactly rolling in dough. I’ve got running water for now, at least, but the electricity can be a bit dodgy.”</p><p>It was a single-bed dive; a living room, bedroom, tiny bathroom and a kitchenette, walls speckled with mould and rising damp. There was a bed in the living area, unmade with sheets scrunched up down the end, no TV or comfortable seating, although there was a beat-up old desk and chair with a dozen library books on it. Clothes were piled on the floor, dirty and clean together, unfolded. A couple of dirty plates were in the sink of the kitchenette, and there was no fridge but a few tins and packets of food were stacked on the worktop along with two bottles of beer. He was wheeled through to the single bedroom; here, at least, things were neat and clean, and unlike the living area the windows had some ratty curtains to keep out the light.</p><p>“I sorted a room for you,” said the boy. Leaving Griff sat in the wheelchair in the middle of the room, he went to the window and pulled a curtain aside to peer outside. “All to yourself. Curtains and everything – real fancy, heh.”</p><p>He sobbed suddenly, huffing quietly as he muffled the sound with his hand, releasing the curtain as he leant back against the wall.</p><p>“What am I doing, Griff…” he asked quietly. He slid down the wall to sit on the floor, hugging his knees into his chest. “I don’t know what to do any more…”</p><p>Griff faded back out into oblivion to the melancholy sound of a lonely boy weeping.</p><p>****    </p><p>Wherever he went, the nightmares followed. He saw the corpses of Vietnam dancing in his mind’s eye, could hear gunshots, screaming… he cried out into the darkness, flailing, intelligible words falling from his lips.</p><p>The boy was there, rushing into the room, his face pale, a shocked expression marring his beauty. He had a shiner colouring the left side of his face. That was new from the last time Griffin had been coherent enough to register anything. The purples, browns and sickly yellows of a half-healed bruise swirled around his bright green eye, mingling with the horrors dancing all around. Griffin screamed.</p><p>“Griff! Oh God, what the hell do I do?”</p><p>“Ba… nana…”</p><p>The boy held him down on the bed, trying to stop him jerking off the bed and onto the floor.</p><p>“You gotta calm down, Griff!” the boy said, teeth gritted as he pressed down on his arms. He winced, his grip faltering as Griffin caught him on the left side of his ribs, brushing a sore area. “I can’t… I missed the drop I was supposed to pick up last time because I came to get you, and Dino had his men do a real number on me as punishment, so if you roll off the bed… I don’t think I’ll be able to pick you back off the floor right now…”</p><p>“Bana… na! Fi…”</p><p>“Banana…?”</p><p>“Ba…na…na…Fis…sh….”</p><p>“Banana Fish? What’s that?”</p><p>“Ba… Ba…. Fi…”</p><p>“I don’t understand! Is that what you took in ‘Nam? Griffin – is that what you took?”</p><p>“Fi… Bana…. Saw Ba.. nana…”</p><p>“OK, it’s alright! Please, Griff, calm down! Please!” A pleading tone, childish and concerned, cutting through the terror and calming the storm. Griffin fell still, limp, eyes rolling in his head. The boy, realising the worst was over, felt his legs give way underneath him, leaving him kneeling besides the bed. He gasped in pain, holding his side as he leaned heavily on the mattress. “Fuck…” Griffin heard him curse quietly as he drifted off.</p><p>****</p><p>Griffin would occasionally hear voices talking in the other room as he drifted between the world of nothing and the bleak reality. He could recognise the boy’s dulcet tones now, although they carried a different weight when they spoke to others compared to when he spoke to him. Muffled through the closed door, he could still pick up on the authoritative tones, the intensity of his voice as he gave orders, his words clipped and minimal like an army general, a complete contrast to the melancholy childishness he would switch to when speaking to him. He spoke like a leader to others; confident, strong, powerful, a voice that made people sit up and listen, and listen people did.</p><p>“Yes Boss. Of course, Boss. You’re the best, Boss!”</p><p>Submissive replies. Enthusiastic agreements. Nodding heads in the form of words.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Who is this kid?&gt;</em>
</p><p>****</p><p>The nightmares were back, terrors dancing across his mind’s eye, clawing at his sanity, ripping at his heart and soul…</p><p>“Woah! What the-“</p><p>“Wait, Skip – No!”</p><p>The door to his room slammed open, as it often did when he entered an episode, but it wasn’t the same kid stood there. This one was shorter, younger, maybe ten? Eleven? And he was black, a fuzzy afro circling his head like a halo, his brightly patterned yellow shirt standing out in the gloom. His face was the picture of shock, his dark eyes widening as he stared.</p><p>“Holy moly!”</p><p>“Oh shit…”</p><p>The boy appeared then, looking scared, towering over him, holding him down gently as he usually did so he wouldn’t roll. Griffin was starting to see him as a soothing presence. If he was there, he felt… safe. When he bathed him, helped him use the bathroom or changed his clothes, he was so gentle and caring with it, genuine affection in his eyes…</p><p>
  <em>&lt;I don’t know why he has that effect… the nurses didn’t…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“He really screamin’ the place down! Boss, who is this wack-job?”</p><p>“He’s my *******…”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;My what…? What is he to me? I don’t…???&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Shit man, I thought you was an only! Why’s he screamin’?”</p><p>“He went loopy in ‘Nam. It’s alright, Griff! I’m here! You’re okay!”</p><p>Griffin calmed, screams abating to whimpers, hands fisting at the sheets of the bed.</p><p>“Skipper… you can’t tell anyone about this…”</p><p>“But Boss…?”</p><p>“Skip please!” Intense green, pleading as they glared at soft brown. Leadership tone slipping, desperate depression creeping in. “No-one must know… they’ll only use him to get to me… you know that… I’ve not even told Shorter or Alex, so you gotta keep this between us!”</p><p>“I won’t tell nobody, Boss, but… he needs to be in a hospital or sommat…”</p><p>“I took him out of the hospital. They treat you like less than an animal in there. He’s better off here with me…”</p><p>“But Boss, how you gonna afford it?”</p><p>“I have ways, Skip.”</p><p>There was silence for a while. Griff could feel his senses drifting away again, clouding over and dulling as he floated back out of the nightmare and into nothingness…</p><p>“You need any help? I mean, I won’t tell nobody, but you want someone to watch him while you gone, I can do that.”</p><p>“I knew there was a reason I liked you, Skip…”</p><p>“Hehe, you can trust me Boss.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;A new caretaker… Skipper… Skip… But I still don’t know… who the other boy is…&gt;</em>
</p><p>****</p><p>He was crying again. He often did that when he was alone, would hole up in here with him and unload his issues quietly. Normally, Griffin was too muddled to understand or make sense of what he was saying, but today his mind was remarkably clear. The boy had a denim jacket on, ripped jeans and a black T-shirt.</p><p>“Dino’s found me a John, one who’s willing to pay the exorbitant fee on my head,” he said, voice cracking. He was curled on the floor by the bed, hugging his knees. “Griff, I don’t wanna go. The damn elite Dino sells me to are never kind… They don’t see me as a person, someone who lives and feels and has wants and desires of their own. They just see me as a cum bucket… It’s easier when you can pick your tricks… I’d rather sell BJs to lowlives in an alleyway than go with any of the pricks Dino sets me up with. But… Dino said he’d give me $500 afterwards. $500 and a new set of clothes. Designer, fancy shit. I can pawn them and prob’ly get another $200. That’s enough money to afford your treatment for three months… I can’t turn that down!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Is he…? Has he been selling himself… for cash?&gt;</em>
</p><p>He curled up smaller, burying his face between his kneecaps.</p><p>“But I’m scared, Griff… So scared… I can’t…”</p><p>He sobbed.</p><p>“I don’t want to do this anymore…”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Don’t do it… Not for me… Live free! You don’t need to go so far… A……………… As…………. Who? Why can’t I…? &gt;</em>
</p><p>“I… I better go… Dino’ll only punish me if I don’t show up, and Blanca is gone now so… $500 is $500.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;No don’t! Who is this Dino? Go to the police! Go anywhere! But don’t…&gt;</em>
</p><p>He stood up, sniffed loudly, wiped the collected moisture off his face with the sleeve of his jacket.</p><p>“Skip’ll be here in an hour. I’ll see you later Griff.”</p><p>He left, dragging his feet, the door clicking closed behind him with a quiet sadness.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Don’t go…&gt;</em>
</p><p>****</p><p>He was dreaming. Sometimes, he still had dreams, but they were usually confusing and made no sense. This was a rare occasion where they were clear and understandable, and neither were they unpleasant. He dreamt he was with another man, a friendly, kind man, stubbly-scruff on his face beneath his tin helmet with ‘Lobo’ and a sketch of a wolf’s head scrawled on it in sharpie pen, dusty fatigues clothing his body. He had a boyish smile, one that lit up his whole face, a sunny personality and cheeky charisma.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Max…&gt;</em>
</p><p>His best friend.</p><p>They hadn’t really known each other for all that long before he lost himself, maybe six months, but… Max Glenreed and he had been close. Extremely close. You see things in a warzone that you should never see, and you stick to your friends like glue to get through it. You treasure every minute because you never know when they, or you for that matter, would be next. They shared similar interests; they were both writers, Max specialising in journalism and he in poetry, but they appreciated the English language as a way of communicating emotion and information. Max was well read and intelligent, a couple of years older than he was and brought up in Pennsylvania, but he had moved to New York intending to join the NYPD. He had been called up before his application was approved. He was generous and caring, always willing to lend a hand to help out, and his sense of justice was as strong as his heart. He could talk to Max about anything, his worries and fears, could cry on his shoulder, and Max would do the same with him. Griffin had never felt this way about anyone before, with the exception of his little brother, who was just a child. Max at least <em>understood. </em>He didn’t always have to be strong and infallible around him.</p><p>Of course, Griffin had forgotten these things long ago, but Max still bobbed around his dreams like a phantom. </p><p>The moment his best friend had shot him was the moment the suggestions planted in him by Dawson vanished, leaving him with only guilt, terror, and eventually a blanket of thick fog over his mind. He would forget many things as the years drifted by, important things, but he would never forget the look in his friend’s eyes, that pained expression, hear him calling his name…</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Max… I’m sorry…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Max, huh?” That recognisable voice, floating into his dreams on the breeze. The boy was there. He must be talking in his sleep. “You would write about him a lot. Always good, happy things. You and he must have been real close…”</p><p>&lt;<em>Sorry you had to… Max… Made you shoot me… Sorry…&gt;</em></p><p>“Griff… what did you just say? Max shoot?”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Sorry… I fucked up…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“You tellin’ me this Max person did this to you? He shot your legs?”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Had no choice… Ba… nana… fish…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“What kind of friend does that??? I’ll kill him! If I ever meet this Max… I swear, Griff… I’ll kill him…”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;No! Max is… Max is my friend…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“’Friend’? He abandoned you, Griff… that’s no friend.”</p><p>Max had turned, was walking away in his dream, his broad shoulders getting further and further away as he strolled into the fuzziness of his memories.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;No… he had no… choice… Max… I’m sorry…&gt;</em>
</p><p>His mind fluffed out into nothingness as Max vanished into the ether. The boy’s voice faded into silence too, and he was once again floating in the abyss.</p><p>****</p><p>The boy was edgy today.</p><p>He’d been here for approximately two years now, listening to the boy, so he could tell from his body language that something big was happening. From what Griffin could piece together from his rambling, some boys he knew had killed someone, and that someone had given him some information that had him antsy.</p><p>“I got a lead, Griff,” he said. “Forty-Two, Westwood, Los Angeles. The other side of the country, but… Well, it’s something.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Lead on what…?&gt;</em>
</p><p>“I gotta go talk to Dino before I can do anything more though,” he said. “My boys ain’t supposed to be involved in killing people like that… Roughing ‘em up, sure, but not shooting them. He has assassins for that… We had an agreement… So I want to go see if there’s more to this than meets the eye. What links does Dino have to it? Something just doesn’t feel right here.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Ba… nana…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“I asked Skip to come keep an eye on you. When I get back… Well… I think things are going to start moving pretty quickly.”</p><p>****</p><p>He returned later that day, looking pensive. Desperate, almost, like he was grasping at straws.</p><p>“I’ve been listening to you for years now… You say it a lot, like, it’s the most coherent thing you say. It’s all I ever get out of you, but I don’t know what it means. Not when he said it either… Go see Banana Fish. He said it and died. And you say it and you may as well be dead… Who did this to you, Griff? Please… Please tell me *******…”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;I never do catch that word… Who are you… And what are you to me…?&gt;</em>
</p><p>****</p><p>The next time he was lucid, he found himself in his chair, the boy wheeling him out of the apartment, eyes flitting nervously again. It was daylight this time, the risks of being seen even higher, but it was a necessary evil. He was rolled down the street, where another taxi waited for them, a huge black driver wearing a busboy hat greeting them this time.</p><p>“Where ya going with the vegetable, man?”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Vegetable…?&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Don’t go calling my ******* a vegetable, or I’ll fucking turn you into worse…” the kid growled.</p><p>“Woo! Someone’s got their panties in a bunch!”</p><p>“S…sorry. I’m just… I’m trying to keep this on the down low, you know what I’m sayin’?”</p><p>“We all got enemies, kid,” the driver said. “Skip explained what was goin’ on. Where to?”</p><p>“Chinatown. You know the abortion doctor?”</p><p>“What you takin’ him there for? He pregnant?”</p><p>“Don’t be stupid! Me and the Doc have a deal, alright? I’m taking him for treatment.”</p><p>He was lifted from his chair into yet another yellow car, laid across the seats this time so he couldn’t be seen from the outside, doors slammed closed with loud bangs that made him flinch. The journey was shorter than the first, a couple of blocks and under the Chinatown arch. Another dark alleyway drop-off.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Always dark alleyways… Like a street cat… Yeah. An animal slinking around in the darkness… Cat…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Thanks man.” The kid thanked the driver, handed him some rumpled notes. “Remember, you never saw me!”</p><p>“Hey, any friend of Skip is a friend of mine,” he replied. “Good luck!”</p><p>A woman waited for them at the bottom of a rickety fire escape staircase, wearing a white coat with her brown hair immaculately permed. Her face puckered up in distaste when she noticed them.</p><p>“Ms. Brandish,” the boy said, seeing her and smiling. “You’re looking ravishing today!”</p><p>“Cut the crap,” she growled. “I honestly don’t know why Dr. Meredith bothers with you. He is an Ob/Gyn for pity’s sake!”</p><p>“He is an unregistered back-alley quack with a coathanger, you mean.”</p><p>“Why you…”</p><p>“Listen, I am a paying client who has come to you for aid, and the good Doctor has agreed to the terms. Now, are you going to help me get him up there or not?”</p><p>“Fine…”</p><p>Together, they carried his chair up the staircase to the second floor, panting a bit and pausing a couple of times to recover their grip until they finally pushed him into a clinical room. A doctor was busying himself at work there, no patients currently, but he sat writing notes at a table and speaking periodically into a dictaphone.</p><p>“Ms. Lakeland was 6 weeks along, so I gave her a course of medication to stimulate premature… Ah! It’s you! You never knock, do you.”</p><p>“Little hard to knock when you come in the back entrance, Doc.”</p><p>“True enough,” the doctor said. He stood, his face appearing very close in front of Griffin’s. He was bearded, a huge bushy growth like a sea captains taking over his face, intelligent eyes like chips of ice behind round spectacles peering at him curiously. “So, this is the eponymous Griffin, huh?” A light was shone into his eyes, blindingly bright. “Been writing out prescriptions for you for a while now, but this is my first time examining you properly. I still know nothing about you except for a name, whatever vague descriptions this punk-ass kid has said, and a list of anti-psychotic drugs.”</p><p>“He seems to be a bit more ‘with it’ today than he usually is,” the boy said. “Normally, he may as well be a corpse, but sometimes you catch him following you around with those dull eyes of his… I think he gets moments of lucidity. Like, he’s locked up in there, listening but unable to speak.”</p><p>“Dunno how I’m going to be able to help there,” the doctor grumbled. “He’s not between a woman’s legs, so it’s hardly my area of expertise.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Woman’s legs…? What kind of doctor have you brought me to?&gt;</em>
</p><p>“That’s OK,” the boy said. “I just need someone to look after him for a while…”</p><p>“This got sommat to do with that vial you left me the other day? I’ve not had chance to look at it properly yet.”</p><p>“It’s better if you don’t know…”</p><p>“Hey, you ain’t dragging me into anything dangerous, are you?”</p><p>“I’ll be back in a couple of days… just do what you can for him.”</p><p>&lt;<em>Where are you going…? Come back!&gt;</em></p><p>****</p><p>Griffin found he had more and more periods of wakefulness than ever before. The doctor, Dr. Meredith he came to learn, was a diligent man, checking him periodically through the days, making notes, trying to find patterns and diagnosis for his conditions. The army doctors had never been so vigilant; he’d been pegged as drug destroyed with severe PTSD and that was it. It was strange though, the increased moments of lucidity, like some part of him long lost was starting to return. The sensation got stronger when the boy was there. True to his word he did return, right in the middle of yet another examination by the attentive doctor.</p><p>“You’re still doing that barge in thing, you know,” Dr Meredith told him when he strolled in without knocking. “I bet you ruffled Ms. Brandish’s plumage again too, huh?”</p><p>“A little,” the boy shrugged.</p><p>“I still don’t know why the hell you’ve foisted him off on me. I’m an Ob/Gyn!”</p><p>“Yep – board certified in covert fetal extractions! Listen, about that thing I gave you the other day…”</p><p>“Quiet… I’m busy here.”</p><p>Dr. Meredith finished his examination with a sigh.</p><p>“So, can anything be done for him?” The kid was using his authoritative tone. Griff had yet to see him use it face-to-face; he was quite intimidating, but the doctor was either used to it or chose to ignore it as being the demands of a bratty child.</p><p>“Not by me, goddammit! If he can be helped, then he needs a neurologist. I dunno what I’m supposed to do… What was it did this to him anyway?”</p><p>&lt;<em>Banana Fish… Ba.. nana… F…&gt;</em></p><p>“Drugs, I think. I dunno.”</p><p>“Were you around when it happened?”</p><p>“No. But that’s what the quack in the V.A. hospital told me.”</p><p>“The veteran’s hospital? So he must be a…”</p><p>“A hero of the Vietnam war. You’ll excuse him for not saluting.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;That’s right. Vietnam! I was in Vietnam! That’s where Bana…na…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Just who is this guy exactly? I’m taking care of him for you, so you can at least tell me that much.”</p><p>“…He’s my *******.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;My what? What??&gt;</em>
</p><p>“I figured as much. You look kinda similar. Kid like you ain’t going to be taking no randos out of a V.A. hospital neither.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;We look similar?&gt;</em>
</p><p>“You got that right… Doctors said he hadn’t shown much improvement in almost ten years, but the way I saw it they weren’t even trying!”</p><p>“Hmm… so he got into drugs over in ‘Nam and they wrecked his brain. Any idea what kind?”</p><p>“No. They didn’t know either. Why do you ask? Is it important?”</p><p>“Well, I’m no expert, but if it’s been over ten years and he’s still catatonic… maybe having flashbacks…?”</p><p>“What? You saying these are fucking acid trips? Doc-“</p><p>“Calm down! Let’s start over. What does he do? You say he had convulsions and starts blabbering random things, right?”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Not random! Bana…na fi… fis….! Not!&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Yeah, usually random. The other day it was ‘Banana Fish’. He says that a lot.”</p><p>&lt;<em>BANANA FISH!!!&gt;</em></p><p>“Banana fish? Like from the story?”</p><p>“Story?”</p><p>“J.D. Salinger. He wrote it right after World War Two about a veteran who gets out of a psyche hospital. He goes on holiday, meets a kid on the beach and tells her to look out for banana fish. Tells her they’re not ordinary fish; they bury down into the sand to eat bananas, eat so many they get stuck and die. Kid lies and says she sees one and he then goes and kills himself. I thought you may have figured this out, you seem a smart kid? Guess you’ve never read anything like that.”</p><p>“Sorry, I’m more into Hemingway personally.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Hemingway is all stoic men and bitch women… But then Salinger is almost all dialogue… I liked Emily Dickinson… I don’t even know how I know these things… Things are returning… Poetry… Letters… I think I must have enjoyed reading…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Whatever he took out there, seems to have done some lasting damage. Even if it wasn’t acid, I’d say it was some LSD-like substance.”</p><p>“That sample I brought you… You had chance to look into it at all?”</p><p>“Not yet. Why? You think...?”</p><p>“I think it may be something similar to what he took,” the boy said. “If we know what it is, we may be able to figure out how best to help him.”</p><p>“Well, I’ll make it a priority,” Dr. Meredith leant back in his chair. Griffin stared at the buttons on his shirt straining as his rotund belly pushed them outwards. “He’s a patient of mine now, so I should probably do everything I can to help him out.”</p><p>“Thanks Doc. I’ll pay you as soon as I get the funds!”</p><p>“No rush. You’ve never missed a payment yet – make sure you look after yourself too! Having one male patient on my hands is bad enough without you as well!”</p><p>The kid appeared in his field of vision. His voice may had been steady, but his expression had that anxious edge to it still, a hardening of the eyes, a stiffness in the jaw. He knelt down so as to address him personally, a hand gently resting on his knee.</p><p>“Griff, I’m going to leave you here a while longer, but Dr. Meredith will look after you. I’ll visit when I can, but it’s too dangerous at home right now, and there are some things I gotta go and do too. Got those Japanese photojournalists to deal with for a start… No idea what Skip was thinking agreeing to that! They shouldn’t be no bother though. A few photos and a generic interview and they’re happy. Once they’re gone, I’ll chase up that lead… I’ll be back soon – stay out of trouble, Griff! ”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;He’s doing dangerous things… He’s scared. I can tell he’s afraid…&gt;</em>
</p><p>He stood, turned to leave.</p><p>&lt;<em>Don’t go! Don’t! A….. As……….. No!&gt;</em></p><p>“Thanks for everything, Dr. Meredith…”</p><p>And he was gone.</p><p>****</p><p>He never saw the boy again. Weeks rolled past and he returned to his old cycle of nothingness interspersed with nightmares, unconsciousness, wash, rinse and repeat again. Dr. Meredith floated in and out of the nothingness, as well as the lady with the perm, Ms. Brandish, but any progress he had been making under the care of the boy seemed to disperse.</p><p>There came some commotion one day. Shouting, threats. A youthful voice full of cruelty. Dr. Meredith growling in annoyance at someone who snapped insults and orders. Ms. Brandish sobbing.</p><p>A new voice nervously joined the mix. Strong foreign accent, made even thicker with anxiety. Even if completely lucid, Griff would have found it difficult to understand.</p><p>“Dr. Meredith, this Japanese boy a friend of yours?”</p><p>&lt;<em>Japanese…? Explains the accent… Wait… Japanese photojournalist? The boy mentioned Japanese…&gt;</em></p><p>“Ain’t never seen him before in my life!” Dr Meredith. Angry. A slight note of desperation in his voice. “Just what do you want? If it’s money, you can have it! Just get the hell out of here! I have patients to see!”</p><p>“Sorry Doc, but it ain’t money we’re after.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Dr. Meredith is in trouble… Does that mean… The boy… The boy…?&gt;</em>
</p><p>“You know Ash Lynx, don’t you Doc? He’s been here before, more than once, right?”</p><p>&lt;<em>Ash Lynx…? Lynx…? The boy! Lynx!&gt;</em></p><p>That name. Ash Lynx. He finally had a name for the boy, but it didn’t feel quite right. Something was on the tip of his mental tongue. Ash Lynx was a pseudonym. He needed more information.</p><p>“I owe you one, Samurai Boy! We had you followed and whaddaya know? You led us right here! So, let’s make this easy for all of us and you tell me real quick, like… What did Ash ask you to do?”</p><p>“I do not know what you mean…?” He was lying. Even with an accent masking his words, Griffin could tell he was a poor liar.</p><p>“You are not really in any position to be playing games, kid! But we can’t lay a hand on you either – you’re our little present to Dino! We can hurt them though… Bring her over!”</p><p>Ms. Brandish shrieks as she is roughed up a little.</p><p>“Leave her alone, you bastards!” Dr. Meridith roars, but he goes ignored.</p><p>“Fess up kid, and don’t lie because we’ll know if you are! Unless, of course, you wanna see her die? Maybe you don’t care if she croaks, if you’re like Ash!”</p><p>“A…Ash told me to get the thing he gave to the Doctor…”</p><p>“Thing?”</p><p>“A capsule? About this big? There was white powder in it!”</p><p>&lt;<em>That voice…&gt;</em></p><p>A new voice, reedy, nervy… Familiar. Painfully, horribly familiar.</p><p>
  <em>‘You’re my last loose end… You suspected me, so I had to do this…’</em>
</p><p>His memory flooded back. Clear as day he saw the camp in Dong Tham, remembered that uneasy feeling, anxiety growing… Dawson…</p><p>
  <em>&lt;BANANA FISH! ABRAHAM DAWSON!!!&gt; </em>
</p><p>“If that’s all you want, then take it! It’s on the desk there!”</p><p>“Did you analyse the contents?”</p><p>“If it didn’t come from between a woman’s legs, it’s none of my business! Ash just left it here with no explanation and then disappeared!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Dr. Meredith is trying to protect me and the boy… He is a good man… But I have to… Have to do something… Move! Need to confirm… Dawson… Banana Fish… Abraham Dawson!&gt;</em>
</p><p>Griff felt strength surge to his legs. He shouldn’t be able to walk, had been immobile so long, scars torn into him from machine gun fire, but as his memories returned so did snippets from within the blank emptiness he had spent most of the last twelve years in. Nurses and physios had moved his legs in gentle stretches and exercise daily. The boy had taken over the exercises each day, making sure he did them, even when it was obvious he was tired and in pain himself. He would move his arms and legs, would transfer him to his chair for a few hours to keep his minimal muscle tone and avoid thrombosis from inactivity. The boy had done everything the nurses had and so much more… He had spoken to him like he was still compos mentis, and had treat him like a person. Thanks to him, he was able to move… Maybe he could stand…</p><p>“You’re a spunky one, Doc. Too bad we gotta kill you!”</p><p>“What!? But I talk! They have nothing do with this!”</p><p>“They still know too much. We’d be doing you a favour too, if we killed you. Did Ash not tell you? Used to be that pig Marvin’s job to get hold of boys. See, Dino doesn’t like women. He’s interested in boys… Young boys… And it would just tear dear old Ash up inside to hear that the same thing that happened to him also happened to you.”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;That name Dino again. Ash was scared of him… Very scared… He was selling himself! Oh God – he was a hustler! He needed money… money for me! Dino likes young boys, so did he…? C’mon, legs, move! I have to know!&gt;</em>
</p><p>Griffin managed to get his knees to bend. He rolled over, his legs now dangling over the bed onto the floor. His arms flopped uselessly.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Sit up! Sit up, Griff, you can do this… Check Banana Fish… Dawson… Have to see… Ash… Danger…! &gt;</em>
</p><p>“Coward! This only way you can fight Ash?”</p><p>“Say what you want about me – he made a fool out of me once too often, so I’m not letting him get off easily! First, I’m going to take every little thing he holds dear. Skip’s dead and, when I find him, I’ll kill Shorter too! You I’ll sell to the old fag!”</p><p>“You crazy! You sick!”</p><p>“You can’t handle a gun like Ash can, so your only use to him is with your body. He’ll make you a junkie, use you up and suck you dry until you’re begging for death! Or maybe you’ll slit your wrists before you become a vegetable? Let me know if you do, I’ll bring Ash to watch!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Almost there! Almost up!&gt;</em>
</p><p>Holding himself hard against the wall for support, Griffin stood. His legs shook violently, threatening to collapse at any minute, but he held steady. There was a crutch leaning up in the corner. He flopped forwards, grasping for it, grabbing it, shoving it under his armpit before he fell.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;I’m standing by myself for the first time in twelve years! Ba..nana…&gt;</em>
</p><p>He didn’t have time to celebrate though. He had to move. He could return to that blank nothingness at any time! That thought terrified him.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Not now! Not now I remember something!&gt;</em>
</p><p>“If anyone is going to be slitting their wrists, it’s you Arthur.” A new voice. Calm, deep. A pistol safety being cocked. “Thanks for blabbing on and on – it made it real easy to slip in here unnoticed! That loser you posted as lookout wasn’t much of a challenge either!”</p><p>“Shorter!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Shorter! The boy knows him! He spoke about him often! In those moments of nothingness… He spoke of him with real fondness! A friend! A good friend! Like Max!&gt;</em>
</p><p>“That’s me – here to save the day! And in the nick of time too, just like in the comics! Haha!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;He’s brought me some time! Thank you Shorter!&gt;</em>
</p><p>He was almost at the door now, just a couple more steps and he’d be there…</p><p>“Those bulges in your pants can’t possibly be your little dicks, even if you are pleased to see me! Take ‘em out and drop ‘em, or a hole is gonna appear in your boss’ head! You too, four eyes! I doubt you could shoot that thing straight anyway, you’re shakin’ like a leaf!”</p><p>He was at the door… His hand on the handle… Thank God it wasn’t a doorknob! He just needed to lean on it and… Yes! It opened!</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Dawson… Banana Fish… Find the answer… Find the truth!&gt;</em>
</p><p>The room fell silent as he made his appearance, all eyes turning to him. Dr. Meredith looked mortified, knelt on the floor with Ms. Brandish, a quiet ‘Ah!’ escaping his mouth. Most of the other occupants of the room were older adolescent boys, most of them clearly gang members, although the Japanese one, a terrified looking kid dressed like a tourist in shorts and a bright Hawaiian shirt, stood out as not belonging in this confusing equation. His hands were bound behind his back and he had been forced into a chair, some fresh bruises starting to blossom on his arms and face. A shaven boy, tall and muscular, wearing sunglasses, held them to ransom with a pistol – he must be Shorter. He could trust him! The only other one still armed was…</p><p>“G-Griff! Griffin!!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;I was right. It’s him! Dawson!&gt;</em>
</p><p>Abraham Dawson went as pale as a sheet as a ghost from his past shambled towards him. Dr. Meredith stared at him with a knowing eye… Griffin was lucid again. He was remembering! His eyes were clear! And this person, this Dawson guy, who had come here to get that sample Ash had left… he knew him! They knew each other! His voice… Griffin must have heard him and remembered something!</p><p>“It can’t be!” Dawson panicked. “You’re dead! You’re supposed to be dead!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;You wish I was dead! You’d like that, wouldn’t you asshole!&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Y… You!” The first coherent words he had spoken since ‘Nam. He staggered towards Dawson, a hand outstretched. He just wanted to know – needed to know – why! “You! Banan…a… Fish! Abra…”</p><p>“NO! STAY AWAY!!! WAAAAAAH!!!!” Dawson raised his gun, hands shaking. He was at point blank range – he wouldn’t miss!</p><p>“Griffin! Look out!” Dr. Meredith cried out to him</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Shit…&gt;</em>
</p><p>An explosion, loud and close, ear splitting. Pressure thudded into his chest, the force sending him sprawling, the crutch clattering down next to him. Confusion followed, several screams and yelps. More gunshots, warning cracks aimed at nobody in particular.</p><p>“Eiji! Get down!”</p><p>“AAAAAH!”</p><p>“Arthur, you chicken shit!</p><p>“Let’s get out of here!”</p><p>“See you around, Shorter! Tell Ash we’ll come level with him soon!”</p><p>Dr. Meredith swam into his vision, his healing hands already trying to work their magic as he tore at his ruined shirt and padded around his chest with gauze.</p><p>“How is he?” Shorter, concerned.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;A good kid… Friend to Ash…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Don’t talk to me right now – I’m trying to stop the bleeding!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;I’ve been shot in a bad place…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Dammit! I can’t let him die! He remembered something! He came around!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;I remembered Banana Fish! And the boy, Ash… I remembered him being there for me… Taking care of me… Fuck, this hurts!&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Seems like he knew that guy with glasses. What did he say? Banana something?”</p><p>“Banana Fish,” Dr. Meredith confirmed.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Now I get it… Shit! Don’t die, Griff, for your little brother’s sake!”</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Little brother… Aslan? Aslan! Ah! How could I forget Aslan! He’ll be so big now… Seventeen?&gt;</em>
</p><p>“Doc, you’re not making any sense?” Shorter, confused. “Who the hell is this guy?”</p><p>“He’s Ash’s big brother.”</p><p>Finally, he caught the word. It stabbed into his addled cerebellum like a golden arrow and exploded in understanding.</p><p>&lt;<em>AAH!&gt;</em></p><p>A thousand memories flooded in, colourful flashes lighting up the dark spots in his mind, pushing aside the fog. A baby, warm and soft in his arms. A toddler, following him everywhere, endless questions and curiosity. A young child, smiling, cute and plump and happy, blonde hair, green eyes, wicked smart… merged with the boy. Became the boy. Kind and affectionate towards him. Gentle hands manoeuvring him, feeding him warm oatmeal and cleaning up his messes. Solemn, depressed, anxious… way too thin, turning tricks for cash, crying alone. Trying so hard to be strong and independent. How did he not know? How did he not realise? How could he forget him? Ash did so much for him, all by himself. Who does that?</p><p><em>‘Things got real nasty back home after you left… The Old Man likely knew you were here, but me and him, we don’t get on too well. I’ve not been home in a while</em>.<em>… I missed the drop I was supposed to pick up last time because I came to get you, and Dino had his men do a real number on me as punishment… It’s easier when you can pick your tricks… I’d rather sell BJs to lowlives in an alleyway than go with any of the pricks Dino sets me up with… I’m scared, Griff… So scared…’</em></p><p>&lt;<em>Aslan… Oh God – what happened to you while I was away?&gt;</em></p><p>“Ash has brother?” The Japanese kid. His voice was shaking, still afraid, probably shaken from what had happened. He didn’t belong here. Just a brief look told you that; he was soft, tender-hearted. He’d probably never held a gun in his life.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Maybe that’s what Aslan needs… someone kind and gentle…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“He… He never said,” Shorter, quiet and shocked. “Not once!”</p><p>&lt;<em>Aslan…&gt;</em></p><p>He could feel his consciousness waning, darkness gnawing at the edges of his already blurred vision. He felt cold. He had lost feeling in his arms and legs. A lone tear escaped his eye, rolled wet and warm down his temple and into his hair.</p><p>
  <em>&lt;He’s in danger… My Aslan… My little bro… Someone needs to help him! Warn him! Keep him safe…&gt;</em>
</p><p>“As…lan…” he whispered.</p><p>“Stay with me Griffin!” Dr. Meredith’s voice, quiet and echoing, sounding like it was coming from the end of a tunnel. He was drifting off again, body feeling like it was floating.</p><p>&lt;<em>I’m sorry… Ash…&gt;</em></p><p>The boy, Ash Lynx, smiled at him sadly from his memories.</p><p>
  <em>‘You promised me you’d come home! But.. not like this! This isn’t fair!’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>&lt;It isn’t fair!&gt;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘I remember everything, but it’s peaceful. I see it again, but there isn’t any pain. That’s how death lifts away, doesn’t it? Gently. Leave the weight of joy and sorrow alike behind…’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>&lt;Banana Fish…&gt;</em>
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